Forging Anew
by Terion
Summary: Directly follows Love Even in Death. Having kept Kirkwall from descending into chaos by the skin of her teeth, Hawke goes to Knight-Captain Cullen with an idea. And finds something that she didn't expect.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of the _Dragon Age_ universe but my games and strategy guides. This is just me making a mess in the sandbox.

**Author's Note:** Minor editing done; mostly lowercasing every instance of 'templar'. Also took out Cullen's line about Knight-Captain not being a templar rank because it totally is (the wiki wasn't listing it as one when I wrote this, I don't think). That line has now been reformatted into one that makes more sense.

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><p>"We <em>can<em> do this," growled Treva as she slammed her hands down onto the desk that sat in the Knight-Commander's office. It was a move she never would have dared the last time she had stood in the room for fear it would provoke Meredith into action. Now it was Cullen behind the desk, a fellow Fereldan and one of the two templars she could call an ally after he'd stood next to her against his crazed superior. "We just have to try."

Cullen leaned back in the chair he'd only occupied for two days since she had stormed into the Gallows wearing her dead lover's coat – the coat she was _still_ wearing – and blinked at her a few times. Treva immediately took it for the confusion it was and snapped, "I support the freedom of mages the same as Anders did but _not_ at the cost of all of us running wild with no one to teach us control. That was one thing he hadn't thought of."

The templar's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of the apostate then shook his head. "I'm not sure," he began slowly, "that many would take kindly to the changes you propose."

"It's what's _needed_," she growled. "And you know it as well as I do."

Hazel eyes focused on hers for a moment then he leaned forward, resting armored elbows on the desk as he splayed his hands across it. Cullen frowned for a moment then said, "Freedom didn't keep the mages in the Tower from revolting."

Treva snorted and he glared. "Please," she spat, not at all threatened, "don't pretend that the Tower was _freedom_. My father was a Fereldan mage, remember? I was weaned on stories of what the Tower's idea of freedom was." She then paused, lips pressing into a thin line, before continuing. "The only bright spot of it is that they had more freedom than any other Circle I've heard of before what happened during the Blight."

Leaning forward, she pointed at the papers between them on the desk that laid out her ideas to change the Kirkwall Circle into something her father would have been proud to be a part of. Something _Anders_, not Vengeance or Justice but the man she had wished she had truly known, would have been proud to be part of.

"Make the change," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Please."

Cullen just watched her for a moment then Treva blinked as he asked, "How is this any more freedom than your life?"

She thought of what Anders had asked her - _Don't you want mages to grow up with the freedom you had?_ – and answered, "What freedom is there when you're always running, terrified that the next village could be the one with the templar that takes away everything you've ever known? I don't _want_ to do that. Bring them here, yes, and teach them by the Maker but taking away the families that accept magic is just _wrong._"

If the answer surprised him, he didn't show it. Cullen continued looking at her for a long moment then let out a long breath before saying, "We'll have to do it slowly. Weeding out the last of the Commander's supporters will be the most difficult part."

For a moment Treva didn't think she'd actually heard him correctly, that he actually wasn't _accepting_ her proposal to turn the Kirkwall Circle into the haven of protection and teaching that the Circles should have always been. She might have very well forgotten to breathe in that moment. Then it passed and she finally straightened from the desk with a small smile twisting her lips.

"I should think _you're_ the Commander now."

Cullen shrugged one heavily armored shoulder at that. "Only until the Chantry decides to appoint someone else."

_Or until the Circles revolt,_ thought Treva. She didn't speak that thought aloud, as both of them knew it was coming and that they had to keep Kirkwall from following suit. "Why let them?" she asked.

There was a pause then he stated in a haunted voice, "You've never seen a templar in lyrium withdrawal." When she blinked at him, he continued on. "We need the Chantry for that if nothing else, those of us that have served for some time."

Treva had a sudden sickening feeling in her gut then and she breathed, "Carver?"

"He'll be fine," answered Cullen. "He only made his vows a week ago and I have already informed him that what supply we have left will be needed for the senior templars."

"Thank the Maker." She then frowned at him as she realized _he_ was one of those senior templars and asked, "Would the Chantry take away your lyrium supplies if they found out what we were doing?"

"Undoubtedly."

Silence filled the office at that, leaving Cullen watching her expectantly and Treva with a sickening lurch in her stomach. Then she shook herself, lifted her chin, and said firmly, "Well then, _Commander_, I suppose we'll have to start stocking up."

He blinked at her, mouth opening slightly in shock, then – to her utmost surprise – he began to laugh. Not a small laugh or a quiet chuckle but a full-on belly laugh that made him lean back in his chair and his armor rattle. Shaking his head, Cullen looked up at her when he finally caught his breath to say, "I should have known better than to think something like that would stop you, Champion." Then he looked thoughtful and nodded towards the door she had slammed shut behind her when she had barged into the office. "Since it seems we're likely to be working together for some time, you're welcome to take the First Enchanter's office."

For a moment Treva didn't know what to say in response to that. The thought of taking Orsino's office after what had happened to him… She wasn't even a _Circle_ _mage_.

It wasn't until Cullen spoke that she realized she'd said the last bit aloud.

"And I'm likely never going to officially be Knight-Commander but that's what I've become," pointed out Cullen with a vague smile. He then sobered and said, "You're the only reason the city didn't collapse after what happened. Take the office. The mages respect you, half of my templars respect you, the whole of the Guard respects you…Maker, Hawke, _I_ respect you. You don't have to take up the title, just the position."

"You respect me even though I'm a mage?"

"The feelings I expressed about mages when we met have…changed, to say the least. What you've done in this city has been a large part of that. So, yes, I respect you even though you're a mage."

Treva stared at him for a moment then smiled, deciding she would leave the conversation at that. With his having agreed to what she proposed for the Circle…there would be time enough for further conversations. Inclining her head, she said, "I'll leave you to your organizing then."

As she opened the door and started to step out, Cullen's voice made her pause.

"Why did you do it?"

"What are you asking?"

"Why did you kill him knowing it would make him a martyr?"

Pain exploded in her lower lip as she bit it and Treva unconsciously lifted a hand to the fresh patch on the black robe she wore. It was Merrill's work, done the night after the battle and rather sloppily as the elven mage had been terrified she'd wake to steal the coat back. She was grateful for the patchwork, however, and even more so for the fact that it was no longer stained with blood.

Bowing her head, she answered in a broken voice, "Because he asked me to."

"Hawke."

She turned to look at him then, blinking away tears she hadn't allowed to fall in the two days since…everything. Cullen looked a little lost but he smiled despite that and said firmly, "Go home. Sleep. Mourn." Her eyes followed his hand as he reached out to pick up her papers from the desk. "I can handle starting this plan of yours. Just don't go running away."

The thought of running had been something Treva had been toying with over the past two days but she'd come to the conclusion that actually trying to change things was a better course of action. Now, knowing Cullen would help her, running wasn't even in her list of options anymore. If they could keep the mages and the city safe together…well then, she could keep her promise to Anders and the one to herself all at once.

"Why?" she asked, trying to smile and joke to lighten her own mood. "Would you chase me?"

A chuckle answered her. "And drag you back to help me with this insane plan of yours."

"You agreed."

"Well, I never said I wasn't mad."

_That_ made her think of Anders and Treva choked on a sob, barely noticing Cullen's stricken look. She held up a warding hand as he stood up, mumbled an apology, and ran, running as much from the embarrassment of crying in front of him as the memory of Anders.

Racing through the Gallows courtyard blind was not the best decision and when she crashed against an armored chest, Treva reflexively brought lightning to bear between her fingertips. There was a whisper of will pressing against her mind; just enough to thwart her spell, then arms encircled her in an embrace that was familiar. She sank into it with a sob, clinging to what she knew was templar armor and probably looking like a madwoman because of it.

"Shh," Carver breathed in her ear as he held her up when her knees tried to buckle. "I've got you. _I've got you, sister_."

Treva clung to him, sobs raking her body and lungs until she slumped weakly in his arms, one hand moving to brace itself against his chest. She looked down at the feel of something under her palm and started to _laugh_ and as she realized her hand was lying on top of the sword emblazoned across his armor. Her lungs protested the laughter but hysteria was consuming her now and she couldn't _stop_. So she clung to her brother because he was all she had _left_ and just tried to weather the storm of emotion that had finally caught up with her.

She didn't expect to fall unconscious and wake up in one of the senior templar quarters with Carver and Cullen standing nearby and a mage bent over her. Licking her lips, she asked, "What happened?"

"You fainted," answered her brother, his face twisted into that look of intense worry she knew so well. "You just started laughing and then fell against me, dead to the world. If I hadn't been holding you already –"

"Luckily you were," interjected Cullen. His eyes flicked to her face then to the mage that was crouched next to the bed. "Siegfried, how is our Champion?"

The mage, whose salt-and-pepper red hair was at odds with his dark Rivaini skin, lifted his head and answered, "In quite excellent health, Captain…apologies, Commander. Messere Hawke is simply in a need of a good rest and she will be well again." He then frowned and closed his eyes, letting his hand drift out over Treva's prone body again. Tears pricked her eyes at the all-too familiar motion and Carver moved towards her and knelt, gripping her left hand in his armored one.

Siegfried's eyes opened as his hand came to hover over her stomach and he blinked before looking up at Cullen. "Commander, I –"

"Speak, Siegfried," said the templar sternly, though concern laced his voice. "The Champion is in no danger here."

The mage swallowed, his throat bobbing wildly, and Treva felt dread swell inside of her to nearly the same fever pitch as it had two nights before. Dark eyes locked with hers and she could clearly read the apology in them as Siegfried said, "Messere…Champion…you're…with child."

For a moment the room froze. Then Carver's initial look of shock turned into anger and he snarled a string of curses that he had to have learned from Isabela. Cullen pursed his lips into a white line then he nodded at Siegfried, motioning for the mage to leave before he followed. Leaving the Hawke siblings alone.

Treva just lay there on the bed, the words rolling over and over in her mind.

_With child._

_Child._

_CHILD._

_Anders' child._

Despite everything a sob managed to burst from her chest and then she was crying, the hand Carver wasn't still holding flying up to cover her mouth. She could just barely register him speaking, saying _something_, then he was shifting closer to her. One armored arm wrapped carefully around her waist and he managed to rest his chin on her shoulder; it was the way they'd used to sleep, the twins and her, when they had been younger. Treva tugged at the hand he still held then and he released it, allowing her to bring it up and hug him as best she could, fingers clutching at the back of his gorget.

They stayed like that until she exhausted herself again and turned her head to lean against his, her lips pressed against his forehead. Then softly, quietly, he said, "I don't think he would have done it if he'd known."

If Treva had had any energy left, that would have started her crying again. Instead she just made a strangled noise in her throat and shook her head before breathing, "No. Justice wouldn't have let him."

"I couldn't hope for it to be Fenris' could I? Or Varric's? Or…well, Sebastian is too much of a prude, so I won't even ask."

Somehow _that_ question made her laugh and she knew that had been her little brother's intention. Kissing his forehead gently, she found she didn't have the voice to actually answer him. He knew what it was from her response and his arm tightened cautiously around her waist.

"Maker," he breathed, "you have the worst luck, sister." Then he lifted his head to look at her and asked, "What are you going to do?"

Too many answers tumbled through Treva's head but she knew, in her heart, there was only one thing she _could _do.

Tears welling anew in her eyes, she answered, "I'm going to keep the best thing Anders' made in Kirkwall."

Carver closed his eyes at that and sighed before resting his chin on her shoulder again. As she idly ran her fingers through his hair, he breathed. "I hope you know what you're doing, sister."

_So do I_, she thought as her right hand drifted down to rest on her stomach. _Maker's mercy, Carver, so do I._


End file.
